Laurie Perry:

“Society can cope with girls who are “broken” — but girls who burn with fury are a problem, and they need to be controlled. “

That. Just. Fucking. Infuriates. Me. Because if you look at it, “Society” then has something close to a necessity to break you-me-us. And I suppose this is and has been obvious, and that I’ve just put it away in a cupboard because Anger Is Bad. Which brings me to the other essay I read this morning, by Sarah Banet-Weiser;

“Women’s anger has been explained away for so many years as an inappropriate emotion, as evidence of our inferiority and overwhelming corporeality.”

I read. I read a lot, but pecking here and there, without a structure. So I don’t know what pop critical theory piece I was reading that was talking about “Glee” and how the scene with two characters flirting to “Baby it’s cold outside” gave LGBTQ people a reference – words, in a way – to identify and acknowledge specific interactions. These articles give me, maybe us, language, a map of intersections.

I read Ta-Nehisi Coates; when he drifts across my screen, when I search him out. He calls for reparations for Black Americans. I am ambivalent about the act, I say it’s because “what about the economy” but it might be me holding on to privilege – it probably is, because that money would still be ‘here’. But I wonder what the equivalent would be for women?

Now, for something completely different.



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I heard these Venus statues were being called “women” now, because nobody knows what the intent was behind their creation, but maybe I’m wrong or the world has moved on or something. These two figures were found in the same area and are displayed together in the Natural History Museum in Vienna. The Galgenberg is from 30,000 years ago, and the Willendorf is from 28,000 – 25,000 years ago. My Western Art History survey textbook only showed Willendorf. “Art history is sexy look at boooooooobs.”

I really shouldn’t speculate on other people’s mindset.

The real story is that I just heard about African cave art going back 100,000 years, and that the human revolution (oh look all of a sudden early homo sapiens are doing these things – like cave paintings and I don’t know what) wasn’t actually a sudden transformation in Europe, but was developed over long periods of time in Africa, and maybe archeology had a certain Western bias. (To be vaguely honest, it was Western Art History.)


Apollo 11 Cave in Namibia, portable art, a long long time ago.

Some days I realize how dumb I really am.

Anyway. The Wikipedia article on the Venus of Willendorf has a 3D rendering, so you can actually see her, almost like holding her in your hands. The Venus of Galgenberg article is very short. She was named Fanny after an Austrian dancer popular at the time of her discovery.

Finding out about cave art in Africa came from a philosophy podcast, “Philosophy in Prehistoric Africa.”

Yes. Still learning.

The one of creating farcical headlines that pretend drumpfucker has a plan.

“Trump’s next round of trade limits could hurt the U.S. tech industry he wants to help

No, I haven’t read the story. I guess the real question is, if the big orange shit wants to help the tech industry, who is giving him money? Because there is nothing else.


Sweet dreams…


This image was on Facebook today-

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From Discarding Images.

Which helps explain why I was compelled to buy these socks the other day. Compelled.


In the mood this week, I am fucking irritable (omg Daughter’s phone just got a text and her alert is incredibly annoying I will not smash her phone I will not smash her phone I will not smash her phone!!!). I also worked with a 17 YO homeschooled kid (I will not scream SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!!!!). I think he might have some sort of thing going on in his brain that hasn’t been crushed by the weight of his peers’ bullying. That might be a good thing, now that I think about it. But please. Be quiet.

The extent of my crabbiness? Meghan Markle’s posture is terrible.

Sigh. Crabby.


Remember who she was.


Original photo scanned and printed on Arches 140 lb cold press, with watercolor.

“The last presidential election was 17 months ago but we are still picking out the shards.”

That first line just stopped me cold! Writing! I’ll go read the article now.

I own The Knitter’s Book of Handy Sweater Patterns. This should make things easy, right? I was going to just go with your basic crew-neck cardigan. I had the size, I had the gauge, just plug in the numbers, right?

I tried. Really, I did. But then the reality of that 19-inch upper arm and the deep deep armscye hit home. If I wanted a batwing sweater, I would make a batwing sweater. So, in for a penny, in for a pound. First, for the back, 106 stitches, not 116. Then changing the armscye down four sizes. then the shoulder and the neck size. Now I need to alter the cardigan fronts to knit in an integrated button band. Do I want that to go up through the crew neck? I think so. Alter both front pieces? yes, but take off a bit because the pattern calls for knitting on button bands after? Or not? Nope. So add 9 stitches to the width on both sides, remembering to cast off every (???) inches for buttonholes – twice. And there needs to be a purl stitch vertically, for folding over the button bands. Do I want a button at the bottom, in the edging? Not in the edging – make the button band straight stockinette. So, how big are the buttons going to be? And also alter the sleeve cap to match the armscye, and you’re starting with fewer stitches than the original pattern, so change the increases, and also how often because you’re making the sleeve longer too.

I lay in bed at night going over these numbers. And I complain a lot. But no, I will not stop. This is MY sweater. Also, I love doing it.IMG_1596


Quince Lark, in Wasabi, at about 250% enlargement. Pretty good color, roughly the edging I want. Let’s see what happens next. I’ve even ordered the yarn.

I’m on tumblr and I run across a sketch by van Gogh.

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Lots of lines. Lots and lots of lines. But look at that sun – isn’t there something mechanistic about it? Which led my brain straight to William Blake.

I did the tiniest of google searches, so I have no idea if van Gogh ever saw any of Blake’s work. I’m not finding what I thought I was looking for, but maybe this –

God as master craftsman;

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Anyway. Van Gogh and his lines. You can see it, if you look because it is really this blatant, how the lines of energy become the sweeping waves of the paintings.

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This is all in explanation as to how I came to this new-to-me interesting blog Biblioklept.

It looks mighty awesome. YAY EVERYBODY A NEW BLOG! Rumor has it that blogs are going to make a comeback.

Which is where I found the photo of William Blake’s death mask that I posted on Facebook.

I need to do more art.



I couldn’t wait for a fancy store-bought sticker, so I went to the Art Cave and made this, and stuck it in the rear driver’s-side window. And no, I didn’t think about my choice of paint marker – well, I did. I didn’t think gold would work, and silver was right out. It wasn’t till the sign was done and I was taping it in my car window with the paint still wet and daubing onto the window that I realized that red had extra meanings in this particular instance.

It’s been a month now, and I don’t think about the sign unless I see my car without looking for it, like glancing out the door at work and hey there’s a red car and oh it’s got a sign in the window oh wait. Nobody’s said anything bad. I’ve been complimented on putting it up, and that was it. Till yesterday.

Daughter had her wisdom teeth pulled. I’m sorry, there are no good coming-out-of-anesthesia stories. They took her back, I settled in for a boring hour or so, and whoops daisie 25-30 minutes later there’s the nurse saying “you can come back now,” and she’s sitting up and pink and her eyes aren’t totally crossed. The nurse asked her if she felt anything from the laughing gas, and Daughter said, “Weww, I uetth I on’k hawe awy fwa-e ow wefewe.” (“Well, I guess I don’t have any frame of reference.” My Daughter is articulate even with a mouth full of gauze. I am proud.)

So I took my not-stoned Daughter home and went to the pharmacy to get her painkiller prescriptions filled. Yes, one was for the good stuff. I didn’t know all the laws surrounding things, so they had to get her on the phone to get her permission for me to get it for her. I stood around for a while looking at Omega 3 supplements and for diabetic foot cream (No, I am not diabetic. I merely have permanent callouses that I would like to go away). They rushed it through for me, saying “Oh I hope she feels better soon,” And I’m out the door and on my way to my car, and the person behind the wheel of the white SUV-ish sort of thing says “Hey, about your sign.”

Many many snap judgments fly through my mind. This guy’s skin, crunchy and wrinkled and I swear that’s the end of a black eye and teeth missing and the smell of cigarette smoke and I’m sure he’s 70 and his wife is there on the passenger side automatically curling back towards the window like she’s had to deal with this guy getting into arguments in parking lots for a long long time, but you know, I’m not gonna call this guy my enemy. I’m sure there was more to the discussion, but all I really remember was him saying that the whole problem is that back in the 60’s they did away with the death penalty and now everybody thinks it’s fine to just go kill somebody, and we’re supposed to execute them and let God punish them.

So many ways to snap back. Although I did drop the bit about automatic rifles being designed to kill humans, I stuck to the one line that I felt absolutely sure about. “I’m pretty sure we aren’t supposed to do God’s job for him and decide who should die.”* I think his wife said “amen” to that, and at that point I decided to cop a plea of hey my kid is sick and I have to get home, nice to talk to you I’m sure we agree on many things it’s a beautiful day enjoy.

I want to know so many things about them. She was paying on her bill in the pharmacy, she was nice, and clean, and a little bent over, dark coat, white hair. White hair, not blue, or yellowed, or permed, I think. A soft wave to it, shoulder length. Him, that skin, no showers for a year, the black ring an inch out from his eye, how has he spent his life, how did he get there, talking to people in parking lots about guns. How people diverge, even living in close proximity, staking out identities.

This is why I read fiction.

Daughter – sigh. I think I did all the suffering over teeth for the both of us. I made her take the ibuprofen twice, but she got up today and felt fine and went to school and is fine. Her face didn’t even swell up. Of course it will be days till the all clear can be sounded, but still. Fine.

*No, I did not think it was the time or place to speculate on gods, if they exist, and what is their true nature. I could have started with, “well, assuming there’s a god,” but it was a nice day and I wanted to get home.